


Slip of the Tongue

by rev02a



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev02a/pseuds/rev02a
Summary: Aliens are either hostile or not. Love is sort of the same way.Reposted from 2010 on my LJ.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Slip of the Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Copies from my LiveJournal from 2010.

The floor isn’t stone, but it feels like it. It’s cold. Sort of a damp, pervasive, chill-you-to-the-bone cold that almost numbs the pulsing ache in Ianto’s leg. It’s definitely broken. If the pain weren’t enough of a clue, then the bone pushing against the skin of his shin gives the game away.

His leg, coupled with the cold and his assorted other injuries, leave him feeling more than a little miserable. He’s developing a fever, he’s sure. He pulls his suit coat closer and shivers.

Somewhere down the hall, Gwen screams. It’s blood curdling. Ianto shivers again, unable to stop the response. He jostles his broken leg and bites down hard, molar against molar. Gwen screams on. Ianto feels his jaw ache, but he doesn’t loosen his muscles.

It’s been hours, by his watch, but it feels like eternity.

This morning, he and Jack sat around Jack’s desk drinking coffee and munching on toast. They laughed about nothing and shared innocent kisses. The words weren’t intentional; they just slipped out.

Jack squeezed Ianto’s hand as he told a story designed to make Ianto laugh.

And then, Ianto spoke. “I love you, you fool.” Both men froze.

Jack’s eyes dilated and suddenly he remembered that he needed to check something in the wall vault. Embarrassed, Ianto grabbed their dishes and beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. They avoided one another for the rest of the morning.

During the morning meeting, Tosh announced that the energy pulse that they had been watching seemed to be increasing or, maybe, building. Owen offered to check it out, but due to his backlog of unfilled medical reports, he remained chained to his desk.

Jack didn’t seem excited about working with Ianto that morning, but he planned to lead Gwen and Ianto into the field. As they headed for the door, a rogue Weevil was spotted in a crowded shopping area. Ianto knew it was petty to be upset that Jack offered to split up. Regardless, his stomach dropped. Owen and Jack went Weevil hunting, Ianto and Gwen in search of the possibly building energy signal. Tosh advised and assisted via the comms.

Gwen grumbled about riding in Ianto’s car instead of the SUV. Then she complained about the weather. Ianto turned on the radio to drown out her moaning about the field they were investigating.

Tosh informed them that the Weevil was napping safely in the back of the SUV and that Owen and Jack were collecting lunch. What was their order?

And then, as the saying goes, all hell broke loose.

There was a massive flash of blinding light and muscled aliens surrounded the two Torchwood agents. They were brown like suede, with long hair pulled into braided chignons. Their eyes sparkled orange and dangerous. Ianto decided that the entire species had rancid breath.

There was no hoping for shooting at their attackers. Gwen tried. Her bullets bounced off their heavy plate metal with a “ping.” Ianto wasn’t getting close enough to attempt with the stun gun.

Their comms were dead. Their guns were useless. There was no escape. It was no surprise that they were taken hostage.

Gwen sat next to Ianto in their cell, trying to play silly party games.

“If you were to ask for a last meal, what would it be?” she queried, after rounds of favorite old movie, best kiss, last time he went to the ocean.

Slowly, Ianto turned and looked at her. “I don’t think they will be taking our orders.”

Gwen bit her lip and let her hair fall into her face. “They aren’t going to kill us. Jack will be here soon and this will all be straightened out.”

Shortly thereafter, three of their captors entered the cell. The shortest of the three pointed at Ianto and offered a series of grunts. His tone stated that his words were clearly a command.

Ianto stood, his hands up in surrender. Gwen jumped up, also.

“Don’t hurt us! We’re Torchwood. We’ll help you,” she offered, and stepped toward their captors.

Her movement was seen as a threat. The lead alien snapped out a weapon. It looked like a baton, but it shot out some sort of energy field. Gwen was thrown backward into the wall. She slid down the cell and lay gasping in a heap.

Ianto hurried to her. “Are you all right? Can you breathe? Is there pressure on your chest?” he asked in rapid fire.

Gwen drew in a deep and rasping breath. “I’m… ok,” she replied. Her eyes widened and she tried to gasp out a warning.

It was too late. The energy baton made another pass, this time aimed at Ianto’s leg. Ianto fell over when the bone snapped. He yelled, loud and hoarse.

The tallest guard grabbed Ianto by the coat sleeve and drug him, broken leg bouncing off the uneven floor, out of the cell. Gwen screamed and tried to follow, but she was left behind.

It was obviously torture with intent. Sadly, Ianto didn’t understand their grunts at all. He cried out in pain and then offered: “Ianto Jones. Torchwood. Agent 9145.” He repeated these words again and again.

Jack had always said he was a good solider.

When his interrogators were convinced that he would offer nothing more, they threw him back into his cell and collected Gwen.

Judging by her screams, she couldn’t even properly offer her Torchwood number. Ianto wonders if Jack will rescue them, or if he will die in this cell.

Not that Jack won’t try to save them, of course, there will be a rescue mission. Jack likes Gwen too much to lose her. Ianto harbors no doubt about that after the whole Space Whale incident. In a moment of self-doubt, Ianto wonders if, after this morning’s slip of the tongue, Jack would move slower if only he had been captured.

He stares at the ripped knee of his trousers. This is better than dying in smoky remains of Torchwood One, or by Jack’s gun next to Lisa’s half-converted body, or by cleaver. This way, he at least feels like he’s dying in the field, properly. He’s trained. He’s accepted as a team member.

If he dies here, he’ll die with his next-of-kin as Jack Harkness. That isn’t so bad, he decides. “I love you’s” or not, it’s something.

A strange noise rockets down past his cell door. Ianto lifts his head, careful to move slowly—he thinks that he’s developed a concussion. He looks to his cell door. Nothing seems to have changed, but, yet, something is different.

Ah, that’s it. The soundtrack of Gwen’s screams has stopped. There is a rumbling and then, distantly, an explosion. Ianto smiles. Jack is here.

He leans against the not-stone wall to wait. There are more clangs and bangs and booms. Jack must be using the big gun. Ianto’s leg aches and his vision swims, but he sits waiting for Jack.

There are bellows in the hall and many heavy feet run toward the explosion site. Ianto swallows and then yells for Gwen. The deep breath before the yell makes his ribs twinge and his head hurt.

She is long in replying. “I’m here.” She calls, but it is weak.

Time passes and Ianto may pass out from the pain of his injuries. He blinks back into awareness to notice that he appears to be sitting in a puddle of blood. He blinks, uncomprehendingly.

He hears feet, light and nimble running down the hall. People are calling for Gwen and he. Ah, the rescue party is here.

He tries to call out, but he’s not sure that he makes any noise. Gray fog dances around his vision and white spots spark each time he blinks. He notes, absently, that his leg appears to be throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Then Tosh is before his cell, glaring at the force field that separates them. She holds up her PDA and begins to type. She’s talking to him as she works, but Ianto is having a difficult time making out her words. His ears are not processing sound. Instead he hears the blood rushing through his head and a strange high-pitched frequency. His face feels hot and his neck prickles.

“I’m coming!” he hears Tosh yell. “Don’t give up, Ianto, I’m coming.” He hears her yell for Owen, but he only sees darkness.

He comes to as he is being carried on a stretcher. The sky above him is bright, but not blue. It’s sort of a gray-white, like before a good snow. He hears voices. They pass over him like air. He closes his eyes.

Owen is leaning over him, snapping his fingers. He’s speaking, but Ianto feels like he’s drifting underwater. Every sound is dampened and dull. Owen waves a bright light in front of Ianto’s eyes. Ianto tries to squirm away, but he can’t move.

Then Jack appears Ianto’s line of sight. He speaks, but his words are also lost, like a recording playing too slow. Jack touches Ianto’s lower lip with only one finger. It’s tender. Ianto wonders what finger it was.

With no warning, Jack is gone and an oxygen mask is fit over Ianto’s nose and mouth. He closes his eyes and drifts with the pain radiating out of his chest and stomach and head and leg.

As Ianto awakes again and again, he only remembers flashes. He remembers being jostled and bumped along into a helicopter. He remembers the passing lights on a ceiling—light, ceiling, light, ceiling, nurse speaking to him, ceiling, ceiling, light—as he goes into surgery.

And then, he’s drifting between sleep and morning. He could force himself awake and go make coffee, or he could lie here with Jack. He feels Jack tangling their fingers together, stroking the back of Ianto’s hand, before twisting their fingers together in a different fashion. Ianto smiles. He opens his eyes.

He is not in his bed, but in hospital. It takes him a moment to remember why.

Jack is perched at Ianto’s hip. Ianto blinks to clear his vision. He hears machines beeping and the gentle wisp of the oxygen tube under his nose.

“Hey,” Jack whispers. He sounds relieved and tired.

“Hi.”

Jack reaches up and touches Ianto’s cheek. His fingers are light, as if he’s afraid to apply pressure.

“Didja get’em?” Ianto slurs, swallowing hard.

Jack relinquishes Ianto’s hand and moves to a side table. He returns with a cup of ice chips; without any offer, he slips one into Ianto’s mouth. Ianto sucks on it gratefully.

“Did I blow the bastards to DNA level? No. Tosh did,” Jack replies. His voice is still soft.

“You were touch and go for a long time. Owen told me to be prepared to lose you,” he continues in a broken whisper.

Ianto opens his mouth, requesting another ice chip. Absently, he thinks he should be embarrassed as Jack places the ice between his lips. His throat is so dry. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

“I wasn’t ready to lose you.”

Ianto smiles. The ice melts on his tongue. “I knew you’d come.”

“I’ll always come for you,” Jack replies, lifting Ianto’s hand and kissing the skin unblemished by tubes and tape.

“You would know differently if Gwen were gone,” Ianto replies, quoting Jack back to himself. “I knew you’d come.”

Jack looks startled. He blinks rapidly, as if dispelling tears. “No, Ianto. I meant I will always come for you.” He traces his thumb along Ianto’s lips. Once finished, his forefinger lingers in the air around the oxygen tube, before drifting over the bridge of Ianto’s nose. He traces Ianto’s eyebrows and kisses his forehead.

“Surely you know by now,” he whispers, his lips grazing Ianto’s skin as he speaks, “that I love you.”

Ianto closes his eyes. He smiles and drifts to sleep.


End file.
